


The Silence Echoes

by Zerathine



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anniversary, Auroras, Echo Flowers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Mt. Ebott, One Shot, One Year Later, Oneshot, Silence, The Surface, Waterfall (Undertale), kick in the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerathine/pseuds/Zerathine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flowey laments his self-imposed exile on the anniversary of the monsters' release and is once again offered kindness. (Happy birthday, Undertale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silence Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> Best read on a computer screen for the formatting to make sense. Oh, and I suggest both reading aloud and listening to Undertale.

“What an ugly party horn.”

                “What an ugly—”

                                “Whan ugly—”

                                                “Whugly—”

                                                                “Whuglarn…”

Stains tarnish the crinkled coil, the color faded to patches of silver from use while human teeth marks dent the mouthpiece. A metallic tang clings to the plastic, subtle enough to ignore except for when the breeze shifts. Flowey’s face scrunches. He tips the party horn between two leaves at the base of his stalk, the soft pat-pat a metronome to his gentle sway. The echo flowers stare open-faced at him. They’re the only ones who can fill the silence.

“The hat’s a bonus. Even if it’s seen better days.”

                “The hat’s a bonus—”

                                “That’s a bonus—”

                                                “Thasabons—”

Flowey traces the tip of his leaf against the deepest scar along the horn’s mouthpiece as the burbled whispers from the echo flowers fade to babble. Flowey’s petals droop.  He curls a leaf around the party horn and, with the other, scratches where the elastic band digs into his “chin” disk.

“It’s so empty here.”

                “It’so emptyere—”

                                “Isso emptier—”

                                                “So emptie its—”

The least they could have done was visit. They could have invited him to the surface. They could have saved….

“Hahahah…What’s the point—”

                “Hahats the point—”

“—when I can’t—”

                “powhen I can—”

“—feel anything!?”

                “teel anything—”

                                “Hahaspentfeeling—”

“Aaaaaaaargh!!!!”

                “—aaaaaaaa—”

                                “—aaaaaaaaa—”

Flowey chucks the party horn into the abyss. It’s a piece of trash anyway, just like him, a broken toy deserving erasure, its purpose fulfilled, absence celebrated.

“I wanna go outside, too….”

                “I wan goutside, too—”

                                “Wan goutside—”

“go outside—go outside—go outside—”

Flowey wilts away from the insistent whispers. He can’t go outside. His place is here, alone. The flowers keep him company, and the flowers don’t experience pain. It’s best for everyone. Everyone but him. Flowey tears the party hat from his head, its red pom-pom tattered, and lobs it into the water.

It’s swept away by the current. He doesn’t care.

“go outside—”

                “outside go—”

                                “go outside go—”

Flowey bites back tears. This isn’t sorrow, it isn’t disappointment, and most of all, it’s not pain. These are but phantoms prodding him through nonchalant flowers mimicking what should be despondency. The feeling is like touching a pane of glass that’s hovering over a candle as a chill burns your bones with frostbite. There’s a hint of warmth at your fingertips. But it’s not enough to save you. The candle grows dimmer while the glass denser.

“Why did you have to tell them to never come back!?”

                “Why’d you’ve t-tell ‘em to never—”

                                “tell ‘em to never come back—”

                                                “never come back—”

                                “never come back—”

                “never come back—”

“Aaaaargh, shut up! What do you all know!?”

                “shut up. What d’yall know—”

                                “shup what’ll know—”

                “all know—”

“You can’t know how this feels!”

                “Y’know how this feels—”

A spray of bullets flit around, tinking off the walls and punching through the echo flowers.

                                “know this feels—”

                “feels y’know—”

“Shut up, shut up, _s h u t  u p_!”

                “shup—”

                                “shup—”

                                             “ _shpshpshp_ —”

Spent magic glitters to the ground as Flowey heaves, fangs bared and eyes contracted to pinpricks. Shredded petals and disks litter the darkening stone as bioluminescence leaks from the gouged stems. Blackness pulses closer. It entombs Flowey.

“Maybe…maybe this is for the best.” He can dissolve into the darkness from which his soulless existence was born. “No one will have to miss me.” Flowey closes his eyes.

                                                                                                                                                “…back…”

                                                                                                                                “…back….”

                                                                                                                “…me back…”

“Hm?”

                                                                                                “—me back—”

                                                                                “—ome back—”

Flowey opens his eyes. An echo flower bobs in the distance that he squints to see. Over the rushing water, heels clop against the stone and splash through puddles.

                                                                “Come back.”

The light transfixes him as it bounces off the wet stone toward him. He shrinks away from it as though it can sting, unable to see who’s holding it. Some sort of bipedal monster? They’re so close now that he should be able to make out who it is, but the flower hides them in shadow. They stop before him and kneel. He leans away, blinking. They set the flower on the ground between them and Flowey.

“H-How did you find me?”

                “—find me?”

They smile, eyes closed in that stupid expression that used to piss him off, and they reach over the flower to pat his leaf. The gesture could fill the cave with its kindness.

_You called. And I came._

“I…I did not! What kind of braindead idiot would call out for _you_? I was fine without you here!”

They retract their hand to scrape their fingernail against a white chip in the ground from a stray bullet.

                “—was fine without you here!”

_It’s been a year._

“Has it? I barely noticed.”

                “—I barely noticed.”

Flowey purses his lips and picks at the petal of the dying flower. They don’t speak.

“So, how’s the whole ambassador thing going?”

                “—bassador thing going?”

“I’m surprised the humans didn’t kill you.”

                “—humans didn’t kill you.”

Silence is their answer.

“Would you say something already!?”

                “—say something already!?”

“Or did you just come to watch me suffer?”

                “—watch me suffer?”

“Did you think I’d be happy to see you?”

                “—happy to see you?”

“That I’d say, ‘Howdy, Frisk—’”

                “—Howdy, Frisk—”

“‘Glad you’re here! Would you care for some tea?’”

                “—care for some tea?”

Flowey searches Frisk’s face for anything to use as ammunition but it’s as devoid of anger and hatred as ever.

“Why’d you come here now of all times!?”

                “—now of all times!?”

“Why didn’t you come sooner?”

                “—you come sooner?”

“Why…?”

                “Why…?”

Still they say nothing and stare with that stupid expression! Flowey averts his glare and droops while the flower’s bluish glow dims until it fades to darkness. The cascading water becomes white noise.

“…Everyone only cares about Asriel. Flowey is just a demon. Don’t you see that, Frisk? I just killed all these flowers because they were echoing my own thoughts back at me. Pathetic, isn’t it? I’m so used to violence, I hurt without thinking. Asriel should have lived. Everyone would have been happier that way.”

_Come with me._

Flowey snaps to attention. “What?”

_You’ve served out your punishment._

“…I can’t. You know that. I’ll just end up killing again because I can.”

_Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. You’ve begun to care about the thoughts of others, which means it’s time for you to move forward, too._

“You…you…really are an idiot.”

_Nobody deserves to celebrate alone, least of all you._

Frisk’s arm extends, their hand open palm-up in invitation. Humans may be incapable of seeing in pitch blackness, but Flowey distinguishes the outline of the hand from the emptiness encasing it. He follows it along Frisk’s arm to their relaxed, open shoulders. If Frisk plans to trick him, they hide it well because all he sees is acceptance. Acceptance for his past sins, acceptance for his mistakes, acceptance for who he is. Flowey pops a root out of the ground and, watching Frisk for any sign of duplicity, places it in their hand.

“I’ll get bored.”

_No, you won’t. Not on the surface._

Flowey lifts another root into Frisk’s hand and wraps it around their middle finger for purchase. He could easily break Frisk’s hand…. The idiot is too trusting.

“I’ll get irritated.”

_Doesn’t everyone?_

Good point, but not many people act on their irritation with violence like he does. Flowey places another root in Frisk’s hand. He’s almost free from the ground.

“I’ll never change.”

_You’ve already contradicted that._

Flowey hoists himself into Frisk’s hand, stem tumbling with vulnerability, but if Frisk feels the tremble, they don’t mention it. Frisk stands.

“How are we going to get out? You can’t see.”

_You’re going to direct me._

“I’m _what_!?”

_Good luck, Flowey._

“Aaaargh, you’re doing this on purpose! What an idiot! I could lead you to your death, you know. Have you walk right off a cliff. Somebody’d come down here to find you eventually, sure, but they’d just assume you slipped and fell without a light. I’d finally have my victory.”

_Would you?_

“Just…shut up and turn around. Go straight. Keep going.”

Frisk trips on a short stalagmite. Flowey bites back his laughter.

“You really are helpless without me.”

Other than his directions, the two share a companionable silence while a stiffness that had started in Frisk’s back and shoulders wanes. If he tells Frisk to turn left they’ll run into the cave wall. He doesn’t. If he doesn’t mention the low ceiling, Frisk will smack their face into it.

“Be careful. You’ll want to duck in a couple steps.”

Flowey, too, relaxes and follows the sway of Frisk’s pace with his own private dance. He still dreams of the surface sometimes.

“Right. Left. Keep going straight.”

Would it be like he remembered before everything went to hell? The blazing sun had cast fire across the sky, and there had been so much… _color_. He yearns to see the stars, one of the spectacles he’d missed because of timing, and fill his chloroplasts with that crisp, minty air. Flowey’s petals shiver.

“Turn left five steps after you wade out of the water.”

Like the rising sun, the dim glow from Hotland marks a new day.

_Okay, now close your eyes._ Flowey opens his mouth to protest. _Trust me._

Flowey grumbles but complies.

_And no peeking._

“I wasn’t going to, you idiot! Quit assuming things.”

There’s a blip in space as sweltering blasts to cool. Frisk giggles as Flowey jerks from the shock, but before he can snap open his eyes a hand clamps over them.

“How did you—”

_It’s a shortcut. Wait for just a couple more minutes, okay?_

“Get your filthy hand off my face! I’m not gonna open my eyes!”

Frisk removes their hand and continues walking, but instead of leaning with gravity, gravity pulls Flowey back as the path slopes upward. Frisk inhales deeply.

“Frisk?”

They laugh and break into a run. The air lightens, the permafrost Flowey shakes from his leaves flaking away into a new calm. The purity of each breath rejuvenates him, and he giggles from complete rapture. This…this is the scent of freedom, and it smells just like he remembers, crisp and minty. Frisk slows, the ground leveling out at what Flowey supposes is the mountain summit.

_Okay, Flowey._ Frisk pauses for a few seconds to catch their breath. _Look up and open your eyes._

Great curtains of shimmering color wash across the sky, pinned with blinking sequins. Green gradients ebb and flow into silvery ripples cascading upward into the navy night as a cosmic painter dips their brush in water and draws it along a tilted canvas so that pink spills into purple spills into green. Flowey can almost touch the silky light.

“It’s…”

Speechless, Flowey looks up at Frisk.

_It’s what you gave everyone._

“I…”

“Heh, one helluva gift if you ask me,” Sans says from a rock to Flowey’s left.

Flowey jumps, startled, and looks from Sans to Papyrus to Toriel, and the surrounding monsters.

“When did you all get here!?”

“Been here the whole time, buddo,” Sans says.

_In order to make it complete, we needed you._

“Ahah…Ahahahah…but if they only knew what I’d done—”

_They do, Flowey. That’s what we’ve been sorting out this past year._

“…What?” Heads nod considerately. “Why!? How can you all be so nice knowing.... I don’t understand. I-I _can’t_ understand.”

“Forgiveness and kindness aren’t things you need to understand!” Papyrus says. “They’re just part of who we are.”

“Eheh…eheheh…ahahahahah!” Flowey sobs.

Frisk hugs Flowey and rests their chin on top of his head. _We don’t know what it’s like to not have a soul, but we’ll still do our best to help you. So, you don’t need to be afraid because you’re not alone anymore._

“You idiots. Y-You’re all idiots.” Flowey wipes away the tears and looks to the heavens. “Everyone here is an idiot.”

_With you as the savior of idiots._

“Just…just shut up and watch the sky.”

Around him the chatter dwindles to quietude. No echo flowers murmur. No insects or birds chirp as the sky lightens to greet the sun. No water babbles. The river of color above resonates without resonance. And this time it’s not a silence to be filled.


End file.
